


Cherry Blossoms

by Garonne



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Community: mfu_scrapbook, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27938263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: Napoleon and Illya flirting in Russian.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	Cherry Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_wretching](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wretching/gifts).



> This fic was written for the_wretching during the 2017 Spring Fling challenge at the mfu_scrapbook comm on livejournal.
> 
> Based on [this image](https://imgprx.livejournal.net/197881d7a0084a6cd3fe6374a5deeced06c0f837/hyyJW4gh1m7B1DJMYy11XVYhDfj88b43rixaBJR4x1QWyBafV45a213IxmctVD7N4_DT1moQJJLmClW-pnD8-Ow8eAQRLD0Vx68UAypuNLdUOUDuIJ-hxyOlvGsH4PyUfZKmIfdxjvy9ULe1PwMB7Q)

Napoleon looked at his watch. Still half an hour to go until their ride to the airport.

He glanced over at the pair of Innocents he and Illya had picked up in the course of their most recent affair: Mr and Mrs Doolin, from Buckridge, North Dakota. The young couple were sitting on the more distant of the hotel room's two beds, talking to each other in an undertone.

Illya came out of the bathroom. He glanced at the Doolins before turning to Napoleon.

 _"Budu schastliv byt' doma"_ , he said quietly to Napoleon. _"I nayedine"_.

Napoleon too was rather looking forward to being home alone with Illya. _"Ya tozhe,"_ he agreed, fervently. _"Ya tozhe."_

Illya made one final round of the hotel room: door locked, and no one sitting in the direct line of sight from the window. He acted only from habit -- the mission had been very successfully concluded, and they weren't expecting any trouble.

At the same time, Napoleon checked on the Innocents. Anthony Doolin was an earnest, bespectacled twenty-four-year-old in the import-export business. It was in connection with his work that he'd been swept up in the machinations of an international gang of jewel smugglers. His wife Samantha was the same age as him, with clear blue eyes that Napoleon had been admiring from a distance. They assured him they had everything they needed.

Napoleon sat down in one of the hotel room's two armchairs and picked up the Toronto newspaper he'd bought this morning.

Illya joined him a minute later, taking the chair opposite Napoleon's. "What's the first thing we'll do when we get home?" he said thoughtfully, still in Russian.

"Hmm?" Napoleon looked up from his newspaper.

"Straight to bed, I think, though I wouldn't mind a little foreplay in the sitting room first." Illya said this in the most innocent tone of voice imaginable.

Instinctively, Napoleon glanced sideways at the couple, but they were oblivious to Napoleon and Illya's conversation. Anthony Doolin was now flicking through a magazine, his wife dozing off on his shoulder.

Napoleon raised an eyebrow at Illya. This was a new game, and he hoped his Russian would be up to it.

"I'd be amenable to the idea," he said casually, in that language.

"After all, your sofa is quite comfortable for two, as we know."

"It's seen its fair share of action, yes," Napoleon conceded, suppressing a smirk. A few memorable occasions sprang to mind.

Illya picked up a newspaper of his own and opened it, his whole demeanour as casual as though he were discussing the weather. "The only problem is, I was rather planning to suck you off, and my knees are tired of the wooden floor in your sitting room."

Napoleon felt the blood rush to his groin. "Ah," he said in a strangled voice.

"And I do like to see you spread-eagled naked on your bed, head thrown back, eyes closed, shivering at my touch."

Napoleon swallowed. "I guess that means we're going straight to bed." It was an effort to keep the edge of need from his voice.

And as for what he wanted to do to Illya -- he didn't even know how to begin to say it all in Russian.

He let his head fall back against the armchair's headrest and listened to Illya's voice, calm and matter-of-fact, describing the precise sequence of steps he intended to take Napoleon through tonight.

Napoleon didn't dare look at Illya. He concentrated on the framed print on the wall opposite, a profusion of Japanese cherry blossoms. He was beginning to think he'd have to start counting the flowers to keep his cool when both their communicators went off.

As Illya answered, he met Napoleon's gaze and gave him the tiniest of smiles, as much affection as lust. Napoleon returned it in full.

"Kuryakin," Illya said crisply into his communicator.

It was the local UNCLE agent, there to take them all to the airport.

As they were going out the door a minute later, Illya leaned close to Napoleon, so that his breath tickled Napoleon's ear. "Home in five hours."

Napoleon had a feeling he was going to find those five hours unbearably long.


End file.
